Sniper in Gotham
by tetris11
Summary: After three rapists are mysteriously shot dead in Gotham, the Justice League and a junior government agent are sent in to flush out the killer, who proves to be more of an adversary than previosuly thought.
1. New Games

Prologue

_To: s-trisky  
From: claire-md  
Subject: Sub-File VN903#2  
Body: You have been reinstated back into the program. See attached file for details and report back ASAP. Welcome back.  
Attached: Sf_VN903_2_

_

* * *

_

Sf_VN903_2

Mark: Janiver "Jir" Hadzizec

A.S.L: 17, Male, Gotham

Location: 452 Faxcol Avenue, Gotham City.

Profile: Print, Memorise, and Destroy

Height: 5ft 9"

Weight: ?

Build: Slim, strained.

Background: Previously from one of the steppe regions of Russia (Resnigovia?). Little is known from that time, but a faked death certificate indicates that he left the country in a box. Group demographics signify that he was probably a child soldier until fourteen.

His integration into the American school system was seamless; likely self taught from old textbooks(?). He must have been learnt English growing up.

Status: Living with his cousin, Alena Tarvydas, who works at the local Deli. Attends Gotham County High School. No known extra-curricular activities. Owns no form of transportation.

Action: Implement junior agent into his personal life and monitor.

* * *

_R__e: File VN903#2  
Subject: Sub-File VN903#2  
Body: Need to know more before proceeding. Why under surveillance? Approach style?  
Regards on reinstatement._

_Re: Re: File VN903#2  
Subject: Sub-File VN903#2  
Body: Possible source of lethal shootings around the central Gotham area. Treat as innocent.  
Don't screw up._

_

* * *

_

Chapter 1: New Games

Santa Maria, CA  
Neat Terraced House, 22:04

Sagel closes the laptop lid with a soft click and looks about her empty bedroom. The last of the boxes reflect the dusty gloom of her now disassembled life, but a certain sense of hope and dread hangs in the air. The dread, she knows, is saying goodbye to her parents again whilst pretending to be part of another cultural student exchange scheme, this time with an Amish school. No phone or email communication. Lies, but necessary enough for Sagel to do her job properly. Her last undercover job went awry after she was caught having a phone conversation with her mother from inside the orphanage. Never again. This time she was going completely native. Except to email her reports to the Levantine, of course. She rolls her eyes.

The Levantine is another clandestine operation originally funded by the old government officials (but not by the government) during the superhuman arms race . Cadmus was their main front, but was flawed in the sense that it could not control the 'heroes' it created. The Levantine on the other hand is, simply put, a recruitment agency. It scouts out for people who already have powers or abilities so that it can control them by first indoctrinating them and then paying them. Sagel herself was recruited until deemed to be 'too risky' to be of use anymore. So sworn to secrecy on penalty of death, she was just glad to be back on their payroll. At least she can be scared AND rich. Or at least I will be, she thinks, grasping the file in her hand, as soon as I find this guy...

South End, Gotham City, NJ  
Verne Building Complex C, Six Floors Up, 07:28

"... and another three shootings have been reported around the city. Gotham PD has of yet made no comment to who the victims were, but eyewitness reports claim that two of the men were rapists and the other was a thug. Whether this means that Gotham City has a new gang on the loose, or a brand new type of vigilante, this reporter can only question -"

Jir tuned out the TV and turned back to his homework, sipping his breakfast thoughtfully. His right hand shook slightly as he placed the coffee down on the table and so he watched it, frowning.

At 7:50 he set off to Gotham county high a few blocks away, passing underneath the noisy underpass as the trains and the cars screeched past him unnoticed. By 8:10 he was at school thumbing his locker code to get his textbooks out of his bag and put them inside for later use. The bell rang at 8:30 and lessons had begun. At 9:20 he was spotted in the corridors walking along with a group of friends. At 12:30 he was sitting in a corner of the lunchroom eating a packed lunch out of a brown bag, ignoring everyone around him except to nod and agree when needed to. At 13:30 he was back at his locker exchanging textbooks for the next class.

At 14:20, there was no sign of him in the corridors, and at the end of school he had gone completely off the radar.

Watchtower, in Geostationary Orbit above Texas.  
The Bridge, 15:10

"Sir, we've lost him."

"I see," said the Martian Manhunter, his tombstone voice resonating between realities, "Does the infra-red spectrum show us anything useful?"

"No sir," said the lackey, restraining himself from even thinking about rolling his eyes, "just a school full of kids."

"Keep searching."

"Yes sir."

Gotham County High, Gotham City, 15:30

Sagel sighed and put her notebook back into her bag, deciding to call it a day for now. With heavy heart and an even heavier pride, she got onto the school bus and took a seat near the back, putting on her music player so that she could look out of the window and maybe get lost in the scenery. The rabble of voices started to die down, and the bus began to move off. Someone sat next to her but she chose not to register it, her mind fully enclosed in the surrounding scenery of dark archaic buildings roaming past her infront of a black-dropped sky.

The city was in one of its many states of repair after a fire had raged across the city in the summer heat, so a lot of newer and slightly less darker buildings were being raised. In a way, Gotham was probably one of the strongest cities in the world; Every year it got flattened as part of some superhero conflict, or it got set alight or someone got thrown through a building etc etc, leaving only the most resilient buildings standing. Those buildings tended to be the old marble and stone buildings which managed to tough out the hard times through sheer stubborness. As a result, most of the buildings in Gotham look either scorched black from the constant fires or chipped around the edges, giving Gotham its trademark dark but tough appearance.

The bus passed through a tunnel and the city vanished from sight, being replaced by the clear reflection of the boy sitting next to Sagel. She had to refrain herself from gasping out loud. It was the face from the profile, the guy she was supposed to be tracking, Janiver Hadzizec, facing the front of the bus to her relief, but still definitely sitting next to her. What do I do, she thought. Act natural. As nonchalantly as she could, she touched a button on her music player as if she were changing the volume, but instead turned it off.

"Why have you been following me around all day?" he immediately asked, his mouth barely moving and his voice just audible enough for her to hear him. His head hadn't moved from its central position, and to all other appearances it seemed as though he never even spoke at all.

She froze, not entirely sure what to do. It was spoken quietly, she thought, so I can pretend that I didn't hear him. She remained silent but centred her thoughts on his mind, trying to get a clearer picture on what had just happened.

She saw herself in his head from different points in the day; through the reflection of locker doors, windows, off his wristwatch... and she saw exactly how stupid she appeared to him, and saw how he was thinking of all the organisations she might be part of and why. She didn't entirely understand the rest of his train of thought, since it petered off into Resnigovian, but she caught glimpses of herself as he tried to size her up in order to discern her nationality; her hair, her nose, her eyes, her waist, her legs... he stopped himself in mid-thought but she caught a glimpse of what he was thinking anyway and blushed.

He thinks I'm pretty, she thought, I could use this to my advantage.

"I didn't think you would notice a girl like me following you around," she replied to the window, keeping her voice smooth and shy in order to stimulate the erotic undertones she was going for. As a way to seal the comment, she moved her legs softly as if she was merely readjusting her position, and then pried into his thoughts again.

He had definitely noticed the legs movement, and he had picked up on the erotic vocal undertones too easily. She winced in her head, as he came to the conclusion that American girls were either very easy, nymphomaniacs, or whores. The latter of which he treated in a broad sense, meaning 'girls that enchant in order to subdue'. Great, so now he thinks I'm loose, she thought. But he didn't stop there; The leg movement was bothering him; something about the way she knew exactly which part of the body to move to please him, the fact that he hadn't moved his head or adjusted his position in anyway to indicate that he favoured her legs, the fact that it was the last thought he dwelled on before she spoke, the fact that she blushed a few moments after he spoke to her instead of immediately, the fact that she seemed to always know how to single him out in a group of people, the fact that she took extroardinarily long times to answer simple questions..... telepath.

It was a single word that was clearly pronounced in his mind, a simple trap that he had set up in his mind in order to see her reaction, a simple trap that she swiftly fell into as her eyes went rigid, her neck snapped away from the window, and an audible gasp escaped out of her mouth.

His eyes were rigid too and he was concentrating so fiercely on something else that she could hear his thoughts as if through a loudspeaker, chanting "Yu Mo Gui Gwai Fie Di Jow, Yu Mo Gui Gwai Fie Di Jow, Yu Mo Gui Gwai Fie Di Jow..." It continued to echo in her head long after he pulled the emergency button and leapt off the bus, running quickly across the road into oncoming traffic and around the block. She wasn't sure if he was getting louder in his head to compensate for the distance he was gaining or if she was just repeating the mantra herself in order to avoid the odd stares from the other passengers. By the time she got home she decided that she was just trying to block out the guilt of having failed her mission on the very first day. She wanted to hit something, and she wanted to cry. She saw the shock and horror painted across his face as he pulled the emergency cord, desperate to get as far away from her as possible

She punched her pillow and wept.


	2. Vengeance Update

Chapter 2: Vengeance Update

_To__: claire-md  
__From__: s-trisky  
__Subject__: VN9032 - Report#1  
__Body__: Have made verbal and mental contact with Mark. Shows signs of physical attraction to me. Will use to find out more._

_Re__: VN9032 - Report#1  
__Subject__: Issues#1  
__Body__: Good girl. No need to go all the way. Mental contact info?_

_Re__: Re: VN9032 - Report#1  
__Subject__: Issues#1  
__Body__: Merely learnt about physical attraction. Keeps his thoughts controlled and restricted most of time._

_Re__: Re: Re: VN9032 - Report#1  
__Subject__: Issues#1  
__Body__: Understood. Use your cover in order to for him to get to know you too._

**West End, Gotham City  
Faxcliffe building, Penthouse  
Sagel's Place, 23:20**

"Easier said than done," said Sagel, slamming her laptop lid. He knew what she was, he knew what she was after, and worst of all her cover was probably completely blown. She fumed silently, staring out at the dark city from her open window. The constant background wail of police sirens meant that the night was still young, and she longed to take to the streets and vent off her excess turmoil: If she boiled a few brains in the process, then all the better. The shadow of the train below her rattled steadily by, making her think once again of the mental chant she had heard earlier in the day; Yu Mo Gui Gwai Fie Di Jow. The thought left her as soon as it had come leaving a sense of irrational fear hanging in the air. She shivered and closed the window.

On her bed lay her homework assignment from tomorrow, a gun, and a picture of the Mark. She hadn't gotten used to saying his real name yet; there was just too much venom in her throat whenever she tried and so she thought she'd settle with calling him 'the Mark' for now. She also hadn't destroyed the profile shot of him for several valid reasons. One, she remembers people more by the sound of their internal voice rather than what they look like; Two, she hadn't gotten around to it yet; Three, he was the only person her age who knew what she could do; and Four, points two, three, and four were not even relevant. She stopped pacing once she realised that she was angrier than she thought she was, and stiffly sat down on her bed. Was she angry at herself? Yes. Was she angry at him? Well... yes.

The first time she had realised who or what she was it had taken months of therapy to get over it, paid for by the Levantine of course. She wasn't stupid, she knew, she was just melodramatic; she had been granted a fantastic gift with her telepathy, a gift that a lot of people would KILL for, but at the same time it confirmed the belief that every tennager thinks at some time in their life; 'I'm not normal.' So having J- The Mark run away from her after finding out wha - who she was, it started the paranoia all over again.

She looked at her hands. They were shaking slightly. She wanted to call her mother or her father, or somebody familiar to talk to - anybody - to reason it all out with. But her parents knew nothing of her telepathy and she knew she had to keep it that way since they couldn't sheild their true thoughts. Telling them would only make them embarassed and cause them to flee from her. She sighed. The only person she could really talk to was Claire, but even she had never met Sagel face to face.

Everyone's been avoiding me my entire life, she thought.

Defiantly she crumpled up his picture and threw it into the trash, relishing the irrational moment's satisfaction. Then a small hesitation later, she grabbed it out, straightened it, and pinned it against her door, making sure that the pin went straight through the forehead.

"I WILL break you," she promised him, "I WILL."

"This time tomorrow you'll be rotting in a prison cell one hundred and fifty kilometers in orbit where your only form of entertainment will be watching the Earth go round and round, again and again. They'll be no one there for you to kill, you psycopathic piece of shit." She pounded the door hard.

Somewhere outside her window, lying by the cool damp brickwork behind the video store, an old man lay bleeding to death in an alley. He was slumped up against the wall with a gun in his outsretched hand and a bullet in his liver. His mouth made tiny sighing noises as his eyes stared in desperation at his would-be victim, who in turn covered her mouth and ran. He uttered a whisper that barely carried in the cool night air, and then rolled his head onto his shoulders. The 911 call was three hours too late.


	3. The Departed

Chapter 3: The Departed

**Watchtower  
The Bridge, 02:04**

"Flash -"

The Flash appeared quickly beside the Martian Manhunter, grinning cheekily at his own swiftness. The Martian didn't smile, instead continued with his statement as though he were talking to someone more serious.

"Another man has been killed in Gotham."

The Flash dropped his grin quickly, surprised and panicked by the statement.

"But J'onn, that's impossible," he began, eyes bewildered, "I checked out every building in the city, every street, every rooftop! "

"Clearly you missed something," said J'onn turning back to the monitors. He pushed a button and a picture of an old man sitting in a pool of blood flashed on the screen. On the next monitor an ID profiler flicked between images, searching for a match. It found one.

_"Arthur Longwick. Fifty-one. Has been in and out of Gotham psychiatric wards since his early twenties. Has killed three, wounded several."_

"The woman who called the police claims that Longwick was in the act of shooting her. She's in questioning, but the Gotham PD will not be able to hold her long."

"Huh, so I guess it was a good thing he never got around to making it four kills," said the Flash somewhat distractedly. J'onn regarded him a solid look.

"That isn't the way we operate, Flash. You can never justify murder."

"Unless you're about to be murdered yourself...." muttered the Flash, pettishly.

"No one would have been killed if you simply did your job properly."

"Hey!" shouted the Flash, "I looked as hard I could for as long as I could. Every window of every building in that city was checked, which is more than what can be said for what you were doing up here."

"I was monitoring the entire situation through satellite and infra-red."

"And? Did you find anything?" asked Flash, folding his arms angrily.

"No... I did not," said J'onn, thoughtfully. "Infra-red would have shown if somebody was on a rooftop during the shooting."

"Well maybe our guy covers himself with tin foil," said Flash.

"The sensors would have detected cold spots too."

"So what... this guy can become totally invisible?"

"No, our sensors would have picked up on air gaps," said Jean, shaking his head dismissively, "But I do believe that our killer does have some kind of super power."

"Hey, yeah," said Flash catching on, "maybe the guy was never in the streets or on rooftops. Maybe he can fly."

Hawkgirl walked into the room, smiling audaciously. "Now there's a job with my name on it."

The Martian and the Flash looked up.

"Well boys," she said, holding her mace politely, "Are you going to tell me who our perp is, or am I going to be left in the dark again?" Her mace glowed.

"His name is Jir Hadzizec," said J'onn, putting up the file on the main screen, "A student at Gotham county High."

"A student?" asked Hawkgirl, taking a seat in J'onn's chair, "Isn't he a little young to be killing rapists?"

"That's what I said!" said the Flash, "We don't even have any solid evidence that it's him!"

"Is this true?" asked Hawkgirl, turning on J'onn suspiciously.

"Yes. He was nowhere to be seen at the time of the killings."

"Well there you go, he -"

"Shayira, he was nowhere to be seen at all," continued J'onn with a solid look.

The Flash processed this. "Wait, how would you know that unless you were tracking the kid in the first place?"

J'onn sighed and rubbed his head, bringing up a new report onto the monitor.

"A few months ago, the watchtower intercepted a report from the South End Docks in Gotham. Apparently during cargo transfer, one of the exported coffins was found open and empty. Whoever or whatever was inside, was now gone."

"So?" said Shayira, "Cargo smuggling isn't unusual. Especially in Gotham."

"That's correct, but upon further investigation I noticed more unusual reports: The captain's logs reported that he had to discipline his men due to a small quantity of food and blankets going missing. One of the men later reported to the captain about seeing a young blond teenage boy in uniform, working the barracks. He assumed that the boy was a new recruit but when he asked around, no one could confirm it."

"J'onn, was the man even a reliable witness?," asked Shayira, "Hadzizec doesn't even have blond hair. The story was probably fabricated to cover his own tracks after he stole from storage. "

"Possibly, but unlikely. The man was found shot dead on arrival."

There was a pause.

"What was the name on the coffin?" asked Shayira, processing everything.

"Janiver Tashdvk. It is the name of Jir's father, and Jir's official name also. The coffin was going to be buried in Gotham cemetery, but a previous record shows that it had already been buried there."

"Why 'Hadzizec'?" asked the Flash.

"It was his mother's maiden name. Upon tracking her down, I managed to find a living relative in Gotham, Alena Tarvydas. Recent records indicated that her address was listed on the school's database, under the name Jir Hadzizec."

"So, what does this all have to do with the shootings?" asked Shayira.

"It was at that time that the shootings started."

"Coincidence?" asked Flash, weakly.

"What would Bruce say if he were here?" asked Shayira, turning to him.

"There's no such thing as coincidence," they all chorused.

There was an awkward pause in the room.

"God I miss him," she said, hiding her face.

J'onn put his arm on her shoulder. "We all do."

They sat there in solemn silence.


	4. Windows and Boundaries

Chapter 4: Windows and Boundaries

**Gotham  
Verne Building Complex C, 22:04 (4 hours earlier)**

Jir walked past the lounge where his cousin Alena was lying on the couch watching TV. The lights were off as usual to save on the electricity, but the random blue flickering of the TV was persistently splattering black shadows on the entire room. It unnerved him slightly.

"Good night, Janiver,"

"Good night, Alena."

He walked into his room and closed the door, resting against it slightly. The formalities were a necessary part to the relationship between him and his cousin. It wasn't as if they didn't like each other; Alena made every available effort to be pleasant and cheerful to him after he appeared on her doorstep a few months, looking for shelter. Jir simply just wasn't used to such hospitality; there was too much generosity. Where he was from, people offered as much as they were given and nothing more, that way everyone benefitted mutually without any overhanging sense of guilt.

Jir realised that Alena must have either sensed this and thus toned down her friendliness, or she was just worn down by his constant formal barriers.

He lowered his eyes inwardly. Some day, he thought, you and I will have a conversation like normal people. But until then...

Jir walked over to the wall beside his bed and pulled off one the panels to reveal a hollowed out section of the wall. It was very jagged and had taken days to carve out, but it was only secure point in the entire building. He reached his hand inside and quietly dragged out the Dragunov, placing it on the bed so that he could take out the scope.

The SVD had a modified 2.2 inch 15x magnifier scope, originally from an old telescope starfinder piece which Jir had adapted to fit onto the rifle. The sniper rifle was a parting gift from his homeland, the only rifle that he had any expertise with during the urban runs as a child. This rifle was different from most other SVD's, with a foldable butt and rescrewable barrel so that the entire rifle could fit in rucksack.

He put the scope in one the of the side pockets, and grabbed the coffee flask on the table by the door. The TV was still on, muffling through the door in monotone voices and smatterings of applause. Somebody in the audience had won themselves the jackpot. It isn't me, he thought gratefully, and slid out the window.

He made his way around the dark city block to the bus stop and waited on the dimly lit bench by himself. A few people joined him and left as he let the first two buses go; there weren't enough people aboard. After another ten minutes a bus came by half full. He got on and stood near the exit, ignoring the empty seats beside him.

The bus rolled slowly by, stopping every now and then to let on new passengers who bustled by Jir as he switched his position on the bus at every stop. No one seemed to notice. After fifteen more minutes of slow riding, the bus started to get full and the Jir now stood poised near the exit, joined by so many more passengers who stood next to him. The bus finally rolled under the underpass and started to move towards his stop by the metro station.

He looked at his watch; 22:44. He frowned slightly, looking up through the window to see if the train had gotten to the station yet. He heard a faint but distinct rumble above him. It was the train, one minute earlier than usual but definitely on time for Jir. The bus doors opened and he poured out with the passengers onto the street and up the steps to the metro.

**Watchtower  
The Bridge, 22:44**

"We've definitely lost track of him on the infrared, sir."

"How?" demanded the Martian, gliding up behind the lackey formidably.

"There w-was an eighty percent chance that he was on the bus up till now, since the others who got off in the previous stops didn't really match his heat signature or body shape."

"So how have we lost him?"

"The bus just stopped under an underpass, sir. Right below a train full of people."

The Martian nodded to himself, "The body signatures got superimposed on one another, so you don't know how many people got off the bus or off the train."

"Yes sir," said the lackey relieved that the Martian understood and wasn't angry.

"Switch to visual."

"But sir, aren't our visual satellites useless at night?"

"Yes. Switch to the visual feed from the train station."

The lackey pressed a button, and sure enough a video of the station platform came into the view, showing everybody getting on and off the train. On the next monitor was the video feed from inside the train. The lackey was stunned.

"Sir, isn't this illegal? The Metropolis act of 1988 prevents any monitoring of public transportation after that man sued -"

"Sometimes it is necessary to bend a few rules to help people," said the Martian, stolidly. "Go back a bit and see if he got on the previous train."

They watched a few people shuffle onto the the train, all their faces clearly shown on the monitors.

"No...." said the lackey to himself.

"Go forward to the next train."

The lackey fast forwarded a bit and this time the platform was full of the people that had gotten off the bus. A lot of people got onto the train, but the computer found no match.

"Nothing, sir."

"And the next one?" asked the Martian determinedly.

They watched the screen attentively again, slowing down the feed until they were positively sure of the identity of each person that got on the train. None of them were Jir.

The Martian slowly stood to his full height and walked back to his own terminal.

"Monitor the bus again."

"Yessir."


	5. Old Habits Die Hard

Chapter 5: Old Habits

**Gotham  
Central Station, 22:49**

Jir watched the passengers move around the platform, matching their slight movements with his own. He was standing ten feet above, looking down at them from the dark safety of the glass roof. Any hidden cameras available wouldn't be looking in his direction; there was nothing to see. From above, it looked as though he was standing in line at the station platform along with anybody else. It was the perfect camouflage. Jir allowed a small grin to creep at the the corner of his mouth, then the train came and he switched back into cover mode.

As everyone boarded the train, Jir dropped nimbly onto the train roof and pretended to find a seat, crouching low on one side of the train. It moved off and he steadied himself with the magnetic anchor sewn into the bottom of his bag. He unzipped it and took out the scope so he could scan the fast moving city landscape for target points, noting where his best angle of view would be and at which times the train would loop to get there.

After the train had moved to the next stop, Jir allowed himself to recline into the brace position, noting that if an infrared camera were to look on his position all it would see is someone lying down on the train. He unpacked the rifle, folding out the butt and screwing on the barrel. The scope was clicked into place, and his body went rigid. The only thing that interested him now was his vision, which from his telescopic point of view showed all the dimly lit roads and alleys of Gotham. The city was his hunting ground, and he was its keeper.

He stayed frozen in that position for what seemed like hours, repeating the defensive mantra in his head; Yu Mo Gui Gwai Fie Di Jow, Yu Mo Gui Gwai Fie Di Jow. He already had his head pricked by a telepath, he wasn't about to let it happen again. Any body scanning his thoughts in the area would only recieve a mind full of noise. Any action that he performed in this state was purely instinctual and derived solely from muscle memory, as it would remain until he finished the task and thought about other things.

It must have been on the third loop that he noticed something wrong. An old man was luring what looked like an old female reporter into a back street, perhaps on the ruse of performing some kind of interview or leaking some kind of information, but Jir saw the the flash of the gun as the man reached for the back of his belt.

It took place so fast that Jir barely knew what happened until it happened. The man reached for his gun, and pulled it on the lady, his finger about to ease the trigger - and then the man suddenly whirled on the spot and dropped. The man was dead, or next to it. Jir didn't dwell too much on the matter.

He looked at his watch; It was late, and he had school tomorrow. As swiftly as he could manage, he folded the rifle back into the bag, unclamped the magnetic anchor and got off at the next stop. Nobody looked even once at him as he made his way to the bus station. He found a seat, sat down, and rode the bus all the way home. When he got to bed he slept with his back to the window, watching the gentle blue glare of the TV flickering under his door.


	6. Retribution

Chapter 6: Retribution

**Gotham  
Gotham County High, 08:26 (The Next Morning)**

Sagel was in an unusually good mood; the sun was shining and the birds were chirping in the high trees. Her mood had nothing to do with the weather or the birds for that matter. It was simply a coping mechanism her brain had incorporated into her conscious programming in order to deal with high stress situations. Some people were manic depressives or bipolar manics, wallowing in their respective moods simply because their brain had trapped them in it. Sagel was different; whenever her depression fell below a certain threshold, her brain would release an influx of endorphins to boost her back up to the grey area, or in some cases slightly over it. Sagel was just simply using this to her advantage.

She thought up a little tune in her head that made passersby gain a slight skip in their step and break out into a smile for no apparent reason.

First period Math couldn't have been any cheerier. The entire class was beaming at themselves during the pop quiz, tapping their feet in a jiving rhythm or spinning their pencils as they eagerly filled in the answer sheets. Well, almost the entire class. Jir was still shielding his thoughts, his wall of motionless detachment like a war-zone on a poppy field. He wasn't throwing anyone dirty looks, but then again he wasn't catching classmates eyes and grinning maniacally like everyone else.

He knew it was her that was causing the dangerously high levels of delirium, the desks around her were practically glowing around her, he just didn't know why. He thought about Alena's welcoming hospitality and friendliness. Was she like Alena? Just trying to cheer him up? No. He looked about the class; anyone who made eye contact with him, quickly looked away as though he had growled. He was starting to become noticed, and not in a good way. It was just a little outside of his comfort zone. He knew that in order to become inconspicuous again he had to be happy like everyone else, but something at the core of Jir's mind roared at him not to do this; possibly because he knew it was what she wanted, and possibly because he knew that he hadn't been happy in years.

It's just too much, he thought. He shook his head mutely, finishing off the question paper and left the room. The teacher didn't object; she was too happy to see him leave. He walked the empty halls maintaining the mental chant in his head as he furvently shut out the outside world. He opened his locker and took out a physics textbook, placing it neatly into his bag and dumped the Math one.

She ambushed him as soon as he closed the locker, striking out a quick jab at his chin which he was only just able to veer away from, causing him to automatically grab her arm and throw her into the locker. But by then a beloved sense of childlike contentedness began to sweep its way through his mind, causing old synapses to stir in their wake and reminding him once again of the mind block he was supposed to be chanting. The overwhelming emotion began to seep into his heart, where he sank shakily to his knees, looked up into her glowing eyes, and slowly but surely, smiled.

Her purple retinas completely dilated, and the hallway was lost in a blur...

**Resnigovia  
Kantara, (Nine Years Ago)**

Two children are running barefoot through a barren field on the outskirts of the village. The drought was tough this year and most of the crops failed, leaving acres and acres of lifeless yellow grass which cracked under the raw sun. But the heat is not enough for the young boys who run regardless, laughing and jeering at each other as they sprint the field head to head.

The dark haired boy is just about to gain on the other, the lighter patch at the end of field only moments away - when his foot suddenly strikes something and he tumbles over onto the ground, the horizon whirling, his face at the sky. The other boy slows down and looks around for his friend who is lying on the ground, slightly concussed. They grab arms and he helps him up onto his feet which he then cries out in pain on, and hops onto the other leg. The dark haired boy is confused and with the aid of his friend, they hop slowly back to the bump in the ground which is now clearly visible from the shadow on the yellow grass.

At first glance it appears to be a log of wood attached to a larger trunk that had been forgotten in the field. The other boy laughs and slaps the dark-haired boy on the cheek playfully, who then tries to slap him back.

His ankle is swollen and its clear that he can't run anymore, so they decide to head back to the village and carry the forgotten wood back with them. The dark haired boy approaches the logs and kicks off the grass. The pale body of a farmer stares back at him from the ground, horror painted across its face. The single bullet wound through the forehead leaves very little blood on the grass. The children scream and run, heading back down to the village as quickly as they can, yelling in the process.

As they approach the main street, a dirt track wide enough to fit four carts in it, they realise something is going on.

A man in a ragged camouflage suit is yelling in the middle of the road, waving a gun around as he gestures with his hands. The children can't quite see who the man is talking to, so they edge along the perimeter of the stables getting a glimpse of Ruhdya, the old farmer, trying to calm the rebel leader down. The men are all on their knees with their hands tied up behind their backs, and the women and children are watching from the houses. The entire yard is surrounded by eleven rebels with rifles pointed at the men's backs. The rebel leader yells at Ruhdya again, gesturing wildly at his starving men and then at his mouth. Ruhdya bows her head and points at the barren hills, indicating the lack of harvest. The rebel leader yells again and signals to one of his men. A rifle shot is heard and one of the tied up men, Elona's father, keels over with blood pouring out of his skull. One of the other men has wet himself and there is a muffled cry of anguish from one of the houses.

The dark-haired boy and his friend are now bawling, trying to keep their tears silent, but unable to restrain the noises. One of the neighbours sees them from her window and grabs their attention trying to gesture them to sneak into her house unseen. One of the rebels sees her waving frantically from her window, and thinking that she's aiming a weapon, he panics on the trigger and showers her house with bullets. The boys run from the cart thinking that they've been spotted, but the dark-haired boy falls on his ankle and cries out to his friend, who stops to help him up. Both are apprehended within seconds, as a rebel soldier shoves a gun in their face and orders them on their knees.

This time it is Rudyha who is one that is shouting, cursing, praying. Her wavering voice carries over the entire yard. She asks the rebel leader what he wants from her; she cant offer any food. He shouts back equally loudly, his voice cracking near the end of his demand. He wants his men strong. Rhudya looks behind her at the men that are all tied up, her neighbours, her friends. She offers any of them to the leader, another man to join his army. He mutely shakes his head at the half starved men, he wants someone fitter, younger. He points to the plump children in the house immediately behind her; her own grand-children.

She starts to plead, to beg, to spare her children, to do anything but take her children away from her. The rebel leader shakes his head again, and orders one of his men to take the children out of the house. Ruhdya is on the ground weeping and begging and holding onto the rebel leader's legs to stop him from moving. It's a stirring sight, and perhaps the toll of war is starting to get to the leader's conscience. He slowly holds up his hand, to belay the signal to his men who immediately stop moving.

Ruhdya is back on her knees again, thankful and praiseful of the merciful rebel. He says something to her, quiet and personal, as if he were a customer negotiating a difficult sale at market stall. She holds her head for a moment, and then nods.

The rebel leader points at the two boys, and orders his men to move out. The boys start to yell and struggle, and there is a commotion in the square. The dark-haired boy is biting the hand of the rebel trying to hold him. He receives a rifle butt to the head, and then one of tied up men screams seeing his son. He breaks submission and leaps onto the rebel next to him, kicking and screaming. The other men follow example and jump up at the rebels who open fire on their now hostile captives. Pandemonium erupts instantly, with gunfire everywhere and men and children dropping like flies, as Ruhdya's children are taken down and the tied up men start to run, being swept of their feet by machine gunfire which echoes around the yard amidst the chaos, and as this is all happening the blond-haired boy, Ulee, tries to wake up the dark-haired boy by desperately slapping him in the face and shouting his name over and over again.

"_Janiv! Janiv! Janiv!"  
__"Jan-_"

**Gotham  
Gotham County High, 09:19**

"_Neyisteng-!?_" he began to shout, and then stopped. He found himself kneeling on all fours with his clenched fists resting on the wet hallway floortiles. His eyes burned.

With great effort he unclenched his fists and stood up, looking around the deserted hallway slowly. The girl, Sagel, was gone lone ago. He shook his head, partly to clear his head and partly in anger at himself. Moving his feet stiffly, he walked sadly to his locker and took out the emergency rifle, slinging it over his shoulder. By the time the bell had rung, he was long gone.


End file.
